


Reel against your body's borders

by oceantears



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Softness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch starved Crowley, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/pseuds/oceantears
Summary: Crowley has stopped touching Aziraphale, afraid of being too needy and clingy. Turns out that this was not a good idea.





	Reel against your body's borders

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first anguage, please tell me where I made mistakes!  
Title is from Hozier's "To be alone".  
Have fun!

Crowley’s hand was itching.  
  
Not physically of course, and if it had been, he would have solved that problem in no time – either by scratching or with a small miracle. But sadly, things weren’t that easy when your hand wasn’t _actually_ itching. Crowley was well aware of the fact that hands couldn’t itch mentally or spiritually or in any other way, really, but he wasn’t too worried about the semantics either way.  
  
Point was, his hand was itching. And he couldn’t _do_ anything to stop the itch. _Liar_, whispered an extraordinarily annoying voice in the back of his head, _you could just… do the thing_.  
  
Crowley huffed.  
_”Just do the thing”_. If it had been that easy, Crowley would have “done the thing” ages ago. But it wasn’t that easy and that was why his damned hand was still itching, a phantom pain crawling over it.

In that moment, Aziraphale turned around to Crowley, facing away from the shop window he had been inspecting previously. His smile was bright and his hand – oh his hand, the sole reason Crowley’s own was itching – was outstretched, as if to mock Crowley.  
“Come,” said Aziraphale, still smiling, still offering his hand to Crowley, “I really do want to inspect those bookcases more closely. They’re beautiful, don’t you think?”  
  
And with that, the angel grabbed Crowley’s hand, dragging him in the shop, totally unaware of the way the demon’s heart had seemed to stop at their sudden skin-to-skin contact. Dumbfounded, Crowley let himself be dragged, unable to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand in his.  
  
As he followed his angel through the shop, he noticed with no small amount of indignation that the itch in his hand had stooped.  
-

After that Crowley noticed the annoying itch more and more often, and usually it occurred when he desperately wanted to touch Aziraphale but couldn’t.  
Or at least he told himself that he couldn’t, sometimes over and over again, for example when he was laying in bed next to the sleeping angel, their hands just millimetres from each other. It would have been so easy to just shift his hand a little and touch Aziraphale’s.  
But Crowley didn’t do it because Crowley wasn’t _that_ needy. A little, sure, but to be so pathetic that he needed their hands to touch? No, definitely not.  
  
He also wasn’t so needy as that he felt the desire to touch the angel in general, in a thousand different ways throughout the day. He definitely didn’t desire brushing crumbs from Aziraphale’s chin or curling up next to him on the sofa. He absolutely didn’t want to hug the angel whenever they met and said good-bye, he didn’t want to hold his hand or lean against his shoulder and most of all, he didn’t want to kiss him over and over again. Nuh-uh.  
  
Not that he couldn’t kiss him, per se, because he definitely could - he and Aziraphale had kissed a number of times over the last few months when their close friendship had... shifted. But that had always been initiated by Aziraphale – every kiss, every hug, cuddle, even the hand-holding.  
  
Because Crowley wasn’t _needy_.

_Another lie_ whispered the voice in his head and Crowley frowned.  
  
He was well aware that he was lying to himself, but that didn’t mean that his own brain had to point it out, thank you very much. He was very well aware that he was indeed needy, a pathetic demon with a desire to touch his angel as often as possible. He knew that, but at the same time he also knew that he couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep Aziraphale. Because Crowley needed a lot of touching, many, many hugs and kisses and cuddles and now that he had gotten a taste of how amazing all those could be, he never wanted them to stop, _ever._  
  
But exactly that would happen if he were to start initiating all those things, if he let Aziraphale know how much he desired them. Because, as he had previously stated, he needed _a lot_ and he didn’t think that Aziraphale would be as happy with that as Crowley himself would be.  
He couldn’t imagine that the angel wouldn’t grow to feel trapped, wouldn’t grow to resent Crowley’s touch if it came too often, no matter how innocent it might be. Presumably, the angel was content with the amount of touching they had going on right now and didn’t need – or want – more. And since Crowley didn’t want to scare Aziraphale away, since he wanted to keep whatever they had right now and would rather go without any more touches than they already had, he kept quiet. He avoided touching Aziraphale more often than necessary, was careful never to initiate anything at all, not even hand-holding and kept their hugs short and their kisses shorter.  
  
It didn’t matter that all of this left Crowley feeling miserable, didn’t matter that he very much did want to hug the angel for minutes instead of a few seconds, didn’t matter that he wanted to kiss him all day long. It didn’t matter that he felt worse every day, that his skin had started itching whenever he was around Aziraphale.  
It didn’t matter because it kept the angel happy when Crowley didn’t crowd him, and as long as Aziraphale was happy, Crowley was happy because it meant that he wouldn’t leave him.  
  
It was _fine_, really. Crowley just had to learn how to suffer quietly.  
\--

A week later, the two friends walked through the park, enjoying the moonlight and the lack of people. They had just had a lovely, delicious dinner at the Ritz, which had lasted longer than it probably should have and now, they were making their way back to Aziraphale’s flat. It should have been lovely; Crowley had enjoyed the evening and should, by all means, feel good, happy and sated. But he didn’t. No, he felt terrible, his skin had started itching again and every so often he caught his hand twitching, as if to hold the angel’s. Traitorous thing.  
  
For the last two weeks, Crowley had stuck to his plan, never touching Aziraphale first, always waiting for him to initiate anything. He had made sure to give the angel enough space, had stopped coming over to the bookshop every few days lest he became annoying and had kept their cuddling sessions to a minimum. So far, Aziraphale hadn’t complained about Crowley’s neediness so he counted it as a success, but in moments like these, when Crowley felt weak and could scarcely think about anything else than curling up next to the angel, or hugging him, it was hard to remember that this situation had positive sides, too. Immensely positive sides even, like _Aziraphale not leaving him_, for example.

Crowley’s thoughts were interrupted by Aziraphale, who had started talking.  
  
“That was a rather pleasant evening my dear, wasn’t it? The food was simply delicious."  
  
Crowley hummed and nodded, kicking a stone to distract himself from how close Aziraphale had suddenly come. He nearly choked as he felt the angel take his arm, linking their arms as if it were nothing. No big deal at all. In his surprise, he missed the beginning of what Aziraphale said next, too concentrated on the feeling of the angel_ touching him_ to listen to his friend.  
  
When Aziraphale looked at him expectantly, he cursed himself and shrugged apologetically. Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale’s hand a little, fearing that the angel might withdraw it since he hadn’t listened to what he has said, but his friend merely laughed.  
  
“You are somewhere else, aren’t you, love? I asked if you wanted to come up for some tea.”

  


Something tightened in Crowley’s chest.

  


Weeks ago, before he had become aware that he was touching Aziraphale too often, before the terrible itching sensation had started, an invite to come upstairs for tea usually meant that they would cuddle on the sofa with Aziraphale reading a book and Crowley simply enjoying their closeness. Now, it usually meant that Crowley desperately held on to his self-control while sitting on the chair opposite to the sofa. He had grown to despise those nights, when every fibre in his body screamed at him to touch his angel and when even Aziraphale tried touching him every few minutes. It was nothing short of torture, that was what it was.  
  
Nevertheless, Crowley found that he couldn’t say no, not with Aziraphale looking at him so hopefully. At his nod of approval, the angel’s face lit up and he led the way to his flat, all the while gushing about Earl Grey with bergamot or whatever it was that they’d drink.  
  
-  
Once the tea had been made and was ready to be served, a new problem presented itself to Crowley – sitting. Oh, not the actual sitting-part was what was difficult to him; he did indeed know how to do that, thank you very much. _Where_ was the problem.  
  
Should he sit on the sofa, right next to Aziraphale, like he had in the beginning? Or should he sit on the sofa a couple feet away from the angel so as not to touch him accidentally? Or should he take the chair like he had done the last few times, or should he sit on the floor- 

  


Aziraphale entered the room, promptly lying down on the sofa. Crowley sighed quietly and resigned himself to having to take the chair. With the way Aziraphale was sprawled out across the sofa it was impossible to sit down without touching him. But as he was making his way over to the chair, his body starting to itch once more, Aziraphale shot up into a sitting position.  
“What do you think you’re doing? Sit down next to me, love, that chair is so far away.”

For the second time that night Crowley fell victim to Aziraphale’s hopeful look and he went over to the sofa, sitting rather stiffly in the far end, as much space between him and the angel as possible. That didn’t last long however, as Aziraphale sighed, turned himself around and laid his head in Crowley’s lap. Crowley forgot how to breathe. This- why did the angel, what-?

Aziraphale breathed a soft sigh and Crowley, still too stunned to think too much about his actions, lowered his hands to the angel’s head. As soon as he realised what he was doing, he stiffened and released the angel’s hair with which he had been toying. Aziraphale moved in his lap, re-positioning himself.  
  
“Do that again,” he murmured, “that felt good.”  
Hesitantly and carefully, Crowley started stroking through Aziraphale’s hair once more, observing how the angel’s breath got calmer and his body relaxed. For a few minutes, they just sat like this on the sofa, Crowley’s hands in Aziraphale’s hair, the angel comfortable and relaxed, Crowley’s body stiff and overwhelmed by the sudden contact.  
  
Just as Crowley had found a rhythm, Aziraphale asked him to stop, causing the demon to break out in sweat. Had he done too much, had he made Aziraphale uncomfortable? But no, the angel had asked him to stroke his hair, it wasn’t his fault, he-

  


“I do think we need to talk, love.” said Aziraphale’s gently, apparently sensing Crowley’s inner panic. The demon stiffened, and then nodded.  
He had fucked up. He had finally become too much, had pushed Aziraphale just a bit too far, had been _needy_ and now he’d have to pay the price.  
  
“So talk, then,” he said, his voice rougher than he would have liked. Aziraphale sat up but instead of moving away from him, like Crowley would have thought, he leaned forward and took both the demon’s hands in his. Crowley swallowed hard.

  


“I noticed that you have been... distant the past few weeks. Have I done something to upset you? Because if so, please tell me, because I feel that this distance is doing neither of us any favours.”

The angel looked nervous after he had stopped speaking and for a moment Crowley could do nothing but gape at him. Aziraphale had thought that _he_ had been the one to fuck things up? Him? It was entirely inacceptable that Aziraphale was the one to blame himself when Crowley was the one who had gone and ruined everything with his stupid, annoying neediness and co-dependency.

Crowley shook his head frantically, desperately trying to let Aziraphale see that he was the one to blame, that all this was entirely his fault.  
“You did nothing wrong, angel. I was just trying to be polite; I was trying not to crowd you. I... I care about you a whole lot and I know that I can be very clingy and annoying and I didn’t want you to have to live with me always well, hanging on to you. Touching you and stuff, and, and kissing you for too long...” Crowley’s voice wavered a bit and he swallowed before continuing, determined not to look Aziraphale in the eyes.

“So I held my distance and I stopped touching you that often. I didn’t want to be annoying you, angel and if you think that I’m too clingy or whatever, you can tell me and I’ll back off. Really, I just don’t want you to get sick of me.”

The last part was said with a small, self-deprecating laugh, which Aziraphale hopefully didn’t pick up on. Crowley was staring resolutely at his lap, where his and the angel’s hands lay intertwined. Crowley’s skin had stopped itching and he couldn’t help but concentrate on how soft Aziraphale’s hands felt in his own. If only Aziraphale held his hand more often...

As if he had heard that disgusting, needy thought, the angel withdrew his hand from Crowley’s grasp, causing the demon’s hand to fall weakly onto the sofa. Crowley wanted to cry. He had known, he had _known_ that he would become too much for his angel, that his neediness would drive Aziraphale away.  
He had even admitted to it, and now Aziraphale would surely realise how annoying Crowley actually was, and leave him. The angel was moving, undoubtedly to get Crowley to leave his flat at once. The demon made to get up, when a soft hand on his shoulder stopped him. Before he had a chance to ask what Aziraphale was doing, Crowley once more had a lap full of angel. This time his friend sat in his lap and brought his arms around Crowley’s torso, hugging him tightly.

  


Crowley didn’t dare to breathe. What-? A slight quake of the angel’s shoulders made him halt. Was Aziraphale _crying_? Sure enough, the angel’s eyes were slightly red-rimmed but Crowley couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done wrong.  
As if sensing his thoughts, Aziraphale shushed him with a quick kiss to the nose.

“You did nothing wrong, love. I’m crying because I am such an unbearable idiot.”  
Aziraphale chuckled at the look of alarm on Crowley’s face and continued before the demon could say anything to defend his honour.

“I should have realised sooner. I noticed that you touched me less and less over the past few weeks but I thought that maybe you just needed some time to get used to our new... relationship. But then you stopped touching me altogether, unless I initiated it, and I was worried that you had started having second thoughts about us.” Aziraphale stroked his thumb over Crowley’s shoulder, oblivious to the demon’s look of shock.

“But you didn’t seem to want to discontinue this relationship, you practically seemed to melt whenever I touched you, or kissed you.”  
Aziraphale smiled, a small blush rising to his cheeks. He brought his hands up to take off Crowley’s sunglasses but the demon caught his arms, holding onto them.

“Wait a second. You thought that I wanted to _break up with you_?”

Aziraphale shrugged.

“Well, you were a bit distant. And since I couldn’t possibly have figured that you were afraid of being ‘too much’, _seeing as you never talk to me_, what other conclusion should I have drawn?”

Crowley wasn’t quite sure what exactly his face was doing and was only dimly aware that his mouth was definitely hanging open. Aziraphale laughed at that and freed his hands from Crowley’s, succeeding to take his sunglasses off. Then, he moved to sit next to the demon, curling up to him.

“You will never, _never_ be too much for me, my dear, do you understand? You can hug and kiss me all you want, it won’t annoy me, I promise. And if it ever would – which it will not – I will tell you. And please,” he added, raising his eyebrows, “don’t ever hesitate to hold my hand ever again. You can hold it whenever you want.”

Crowley nodded mutely. He wished he could have said something to Aziraphale in response, but he was still a bit too shocked over all the touching that was going on. Slowly, he laid his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, drawing the angel a bit closer to him.

The itching had stopped, Crowley noted as he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s hair. The itching had stopped and it wouldn’t come back, not with Aziraphale by his side.


End file.
